Blue-Eyed Metaphor
by InhaleBreatheSteadyExhale
Summary: Senior Year, and Kurt Hummel is a broken boy. On his first day back after Summer, he meets his new history teacher, Mr B. Anderson, and is determined to get exactly what he wants, and he wants Blaine. Rated M for a reason. Skank,Dancer!Kurt and Teacher!Blaine . Sorry, I suck at summaries. Title taken from Hey, Lady by Thriving Ivory.
1. If You Could See Me Now

**I don't think you understand my excitement in uploading this. I'm freaking out. This is _the _for me. I've spent months (no, really) planning this, and I've had the idea for almost a year. So to finally be uploading it... I CAN'T BREATHE**

**It's going to be a pretty long fic, and I'm debating a sequel. It's my baby, this thing, I swear.**

**I'm not going to update this for a while though, because this is basically just a sneak peak. I'm going to write ahead so I can get regular-ish updates, but I just couldn't hold back on posting this. The other chapters will probably be longer than this one, too.**

**Each chapter will have a song, whether somebody sings it or it just fits the scene or whatever, it'll have a few lines at the beginning and then possibly more later in the chapter.**

**I'd like to thank my Beta and bestie too, Martha, follow her on twitter: StarKidMartha **

**And, follow _me _on twitter: Auntie_Snix21**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the music I use, unless I state otherwise. I also don't own Glee or any of it's characters. I also don't own the surnames of the Warblers, I'm using the same ones as used in admiller's Welcome To Hogwarts, because those are the ones I just think of the Warblers with, because I've read that fic hundreds of times. It's my favourite.**

**I love you all!**

* * *

_If you could see me now would you recognize me?_

_Would you pat me on the back or would you criticize me?_

_Would you follow every line on my tear-stained face?_

_Put your hand on my heart that was cold as the day you were taken away,_

_I know it's been a while but I can see you clear as day,_

_Right now, I wish I could hear you say,_

_I drink too much, and I smoke too much dutch,_

_But if you can't see me now that shit's a must,_

* * *

"Kurt Hummel?"

The name echoed around the silent dance studio. Nobody allowed themselves to move; nobody allowed themselves to speak; nobody allowed themselves to breathe, because nobody, _nobody _was taken directly out of class like this by Madam Tibideaux, mid-routine.

"Kurt Hummel," Madam Tibideaux repeated, raising her voice slightly. Slowly, very, very slowly, a small boy with floppy chestnut hair and big blue eyes stepped out of the formation of his classmates. He made a gulping sound as he swallowed in fear.

"Come with me," the dance school's owner said, guiding Kurt through the door and out of class, turning back for just a second to yell for everyone to carry on. She led Kurt down the long corridor and into her office, where Burt Hummel, Kurt's father, was sat in one of the chairs opposite Madam's desk, patiently waiting. He turned around when the door opened, looking straight at his son, expression soft, but his eyes were red; Burt Hummel had cried today.

Even though he was only eight years old, Kurt could see through his father's mask. Something was seriously, seriously wrong. His dad didn't cry.

"I'll give you two a moment," Madam Tibideaux smiled comfortingly at Burt, comfortingly, before walking out the spacious office.

"What happened, dad?" Kurt asked as soon as he heard the door click shut. Rather than answering, Burt wrapped his son in a tight hug, holding him close.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," the man murmured against the young boy's hair, dampening it with a few warm tears that fell fast. "I'm so, so sorry."

Kurt pulled away. "Dad?"

Burt inhaled, shakily. "It's your Mom. She was in a car accident."

* * *

On Friday, February 28th, Burt Hummel led his son through the graveyard in which the body of the eight year old boy's mother had just been buried. The skies were dark, a storm threatening to fill the area with heavy rain. Although the funeral itself had ended, Burt had held back to allow himself and his son a chance to say their final goodbyes.

_Here lies Elizabeth Jane Hummel, _

_Loving mother, wife, daughter and sister._

_January, 21__st__ 1974 – February, 14__th__ 2003_

"It's just us now, kiddo," Burt sighed, clasping his son's hand tightly.

"We'll be okay though, right Dad?" Kurt was obviously trying to be stronger than he actually was, choking at the end of the sentence as he tried to hold back his tears.

"Hey, Kurt, it's okay to cry. It'll be okay," Burt said as he lifted his boy into his arms, holding him tight, tears hot in his own eyes.

Life would never be the same again.

* * *

Kurt sighed as he heard his father call down the stairs, jogging up to meet his father at the door.

"Yes, Dad?" the fourteen year old boy smiled.

"I need to talk to you. Now."

Kurt raised his eyebrows and followed his father to the kitchen, sitting at the dining table opposite his dad. "Yes?"

"Kurt, kiddo, I really don't want to have to do this, but you can't go to those dance classes anymore," Burt said, clear and simple.

"W-what?" Kurt couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. I just can't afford it right now. I'm working extra shifts at the shop but it's just not enough anymore. Maybe one day you can go back, but it's just not sensible right now."

"But Mom wanted me to dance," Kurt breathed, looking down and trying not to cry. Dance was his outlet. He'd always felt like it kept him from breaking, like it helped him connect with his mother. It stopped him from hurting himself.

"I know, kiddo. I'm not saying to give up your dancing altogether, I just can't keep sending you to the classes. I'm sorry," Burt gave his son a reassuring smile, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up before walking away, leaving Kurt alone.

"Why, Mom? How is this fair?" the fourteen year old whispered to the air around him, eyes hot and stinging with unshed tears. He pushed his chair out behind him and ran downstairs to his bedroom, which was located in the basement.

Kurt Hummel was fourteen years old when he first took a razorblade to his forearm.

* * *

"I wish I'd never come out of the closet," Kurt thought aloud as his best friend, Mercedes, as he wiped slushie from his eyes.

"Well, we both know that's a lie," the girl replied, dropping the cloth into the sink.

Kurt gave her a look. "It's really not. I don't want to put up with this for another two years."

"Well, we're almost done with sophomore year now, so it's not that long. You've gotten this far, boo; you'll be fine. And the whole of Glee Club are here for you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kurt sighed, grabbing his bag and leaving the girl's restroom, Mercedes following close behind, rolling her eyes.

"Anyway, I've got English and you have French, so I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later, 'Cedes," Kurt smiled faintly, patting the girl on the shoulder and watching her leave, before turning and striding through the ocean of colour that filled the hallways of McKinley High School.

"Kurt! Wait up!" Quinn called after the sophomore boy, who spun around, raising an eyebrow at her.

"What do you want, Fabray?" Kurt groaned. She only talked to him when she wanted something, which was normally Finn.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Skanks," the blonde smiled that award winning ex-head-cheerleader smile everyone knew and loved, looking up at him with her wide green eyes, looping her arm through Kurt's and leading him down the hall.

"What'd they do?" This wasn't a conversation the sixteen year old boy wanted to be having on the last day of his sophomore year.

"I'm joining them. I wanted you to join with me," she said, simply.

Kurt's eyes widened, comically, as he took Quinn's hand and led her into a, thankfully empty, classroom.

"You've finally lost your mind, haven't you? What demonic spirit ever possessed you to do that?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Kurt. I'm sick of being kicked around. I made a mistake this year that I'm never going to live down, and I don't want everybody giving me those awful dirty looks and speaking about me behind my back. And I know you're sick of being kicked around like that, too; I've seen your arms," she pleaded, referring to the time she'd walked in on him changing before a competition, seeing the thin, pink scars that covered both of his forearms. "Join me, Kurt."

"Quinn…" the blue-eyed boy chewed his bottom lip as he tried to think of how to tell her 'no', but the truth of the matter was that the idea was incredibly appealing.

"You don't have to give me an answer now, it's just an idea. I know how hurt you are, and it sucks to watch you get pushed around all the time when we both know that it doesn't have to be like that. Just think about it, okay?" the blonde gave him a little half smile, turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

"Quinn, wait," Kurt said before her outstretched fingers took hold of the door handle. She turned back, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"I'll do it."

* * *

"Want a smoke, Hummel?" Quinn smirked as her right-hand man strolled up to the bleachers, dropping his bag on the ground.

"What do you think I'm going to say? No?" Kurt chuckled, taking the lit cigarette from the ex-blonde's delicate fingers, looking around at the gang.

The two girls; Quinn Fabray, the hot pink-haired punk princess, complete with nose-ring and tattoos, and Tina Cohen-Chang, with black and red hair, heavy black eyeliner, and gothic outfits, the shy demeanor that was once associated with her when the group were sophomores long gone and replaced with a fiery and bitchy attitude during their Junior year. Then Nick Hamilton and Jeff Campbell; Nick with dark hair that fell over his eyes, covering the many piercings in his brow and with tattoos covering his arms; Jeff with floppy blonde hair with a single electric blue stripe through his bangs, two lip piercings and one in his nose. And then, of course, there was Kurt himself, the front of his hair dark pink, two piercings in his right eyebrow and a ring in his left nostril to match Quinn's, and another in his bottom lip. A smoky black colour lined his eyes, dramatizing the effect his bright blue eyes had. He wore a tattered denim jacket and torn, jet black skinny jeans with knee-high biker boots.

Quinn chuckled to herself. "Of course you wouldn't say no," she grinned, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever," Kurt muttered, passing the cigarette to Nick.

"Hey! That was mine!" Quinn protested as Nick slung his arm around her shoulders, taking a puff.

"You mean you're not going to share with your boyfriend, Q? That's mean," Nick nuzzled against her cheek.

Quinn let out a disgusted noise, shaking him off and lighting another cigarette. "For the last time, Nick, I'm not your girlfriend."

"Did somebody say fuck-buddies?" Jeff giggled, innocently looking around, pretending he hadn't said a word.

"Shut up, Campbell," Quinn groaned. "You too, Hamilton." Nick and Jeff both snickered; they loved winding her up. They also loved sleeping with her, but that's a different story altogether.

"So," Tina began after the laughter died down, "Who's ready for senior year?"

"Oh my god, Tina, have you seen the new history teacher?" Quinn gasped, fanning herself.

"I know! He's gorgeous," Tina giggled.

"I'd let him have his way with me, that's for sure," the ex-blonde winked.

"Oh, come on," Kurt rolled his eyes. "He's a teacher."

Both girls raised their eyebrows at the same time, giving Kurt a look.

"He's hot, Kurt. Trust me," Quinn said.

"Well, I guess we'll see, right?" Kurt grinned.

"Yep!" Quinn laughed, nudging Nick with her shoulder. "Senior year, here we come."

* * *

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	2. Mine

**I was _not _planning on updating yet...whoa.**

**So, did I say the chapters would get longer? Because the chapters are getting longer.**

**I couldn't resist posting this. I was just so excited by it all I couldn't help myself :')**

**I hope you like! I can't say I'm 100% happy with this chapter, but meh, I'm posting anyway.**

**Tweet me ( Auntie_Snix21 ) and my beta ( StarKidMartha )**

**Finally, I, sadly, do not own Glee or Taylor Swift. It'd be pretty entertaining if I did, either way.**

* * *

_I say "can you believe it?"_

_ As we're lying on the couch,_

_The moment I can see it,_

_ I can see it now,_

* * *

"Bilbo, if you don't get your lazy ass out of that bed, I will crack one of your nuts; right or left, that's your choice."

Blaine Anderson chuckled, rolling out of bed, as his best friend and one of his two roommates, Santana, rapped her knuckles on his bedroom door.

"I'm up, Satan," he yelled through the door in reply.

"You better be. I'm not afraid to come in and kick your ass," the Latina girl threatened. Blaine, faced with the same threat a million times, just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, San," Blaine laughed, listening to her retreating footsteps before heading into his en-suite bathroom and getting into the shower.

He stood under the showerhead, the hot spray drumming on his toned, tanned skin, mentally preparing for his first day at his new job; McKinley High School's all new history teacher. It was actually his first serious job, one of his closest friends, Sebastian Smythe, having helped him get it. Sebastian taught English, and had talked to the Principal when he'd heard the post was opening. Now, here was Blaine, preparing for his first day.

He stepped out of the shower, drying his body off with a towel and wrapping it around his hips before walking to the sink. He picked up the tub of gel that was sat there, looking at himself in the mirror and styling his hair the same way he always did, commonly referred to as 'the helmet' by Santana.

He strolled back into his bedroom, taking his planned outfit off of the hanger on the front of his closet and getting dressed, checking himself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner of his room. He'd picked out plain charcoal trousers that clung perfectly to the tops of his thighs with an arctic-white long sleeved button up and black suspenders, all underneath a fitted navy pea coat. He finished his outfit off with a maroon bowtie.

"Blaine! I woke you up half an hour ago and you're still not out here; I'm coming in," he heard Santana yell through the door just seconds before it flew open. She stood in the doorway; hand on her hip as she looked him up and down.

"I approve. You look like sex on a stick, as usual," she said, grinning.

"That wasn't the desired effect, but okay," Blaine laughed in reply, pushing past her and walking to the entrance of their little apartment. "I'm going to go. I'll see you later, okay?"

"No, you're not leaving yet. I'm not letting you go anywhere without eating, which is why I had Britt grab us all some donuts," Santana smirked, herding him into the kitchen like a mother hen, while Blaine rolled his eyes…again.

"Good morning, Blaine," Brittany squealed, wrapping the man in a hug as soon as he stepped into the room.

"Hey, Britt," Blaine chuckled, hugging her back quickly before he pulled back. She offered him a donut from the open box on the table.

"Donut?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, taking it and biting into it, the sweet flavor smacking into his senses like a wall of sugar. "Anyway," he began, "I've really got to go or I'm going to be late. I'll see you two later, okay?"

"Sure thing, Blainers," Santana grinned.

* * *

Blaine arrived and headed straight to his new classroom. He'd been in a few times over the summer to fix it up, moving desks and bookshelves, organizing the books and so on, so he knew which room was his. The bell for first period was due to go in five minutes, so he had time to boot up his computer and make the final preparations for his first class.

The bell rang out and Blaine looked up as students began to file in, quickly sliding into their seats. He scanned the classroom, taking in the appearances of each of the students, nodding to himself.

"Okay, guys," he grinned. "I'm Mr. Anderson and I'll be taking you all for history this year. So, all I can do is hope you enjoy yourself, although I know how difficult that is in high school." The whole class laughed, holding pens or pencils between their fingers and turning to each other as they giggled. Blaine smiled and began to mark the students down as present.

"Rachel Berry?"

"Yes, sir," a petite brunette in '_Oh, God, what is she wearing?!' _called from the back corner.

"Jeff Campbell?"

"Yes, sir," the response came.

"Hayley Davies?"

"Yes, sir."

And so Blaine continued as quickly as he could.

"Kurt Hummel?" No response. Blaine looked up from where he was leaning over his desk, raising his eyebrows and looking at the students.

"Kurt Hummel?" Still nothing.

"He's not here," Rachel said, sighing. "And if he is then he'll be late. He always is."

Blaine nodded; he knew what she was getting at. He finished marking the students in and turned to the class.

"You each have a textbook on your desk; I'd like you to turn to page thirty-four and read through the passage there, please," Blaine instructed, the students obeying immediately, as he sat down in the chair behind his desk.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a tall boy. His hair was dyed black, the front a dark, dusky pink, and coiffed to perfection. His eyes were lined with black, and he had too many piercings for Blaine to count. He wore a torn and tattered denim jacket, charcoal biker boots and skinny jeans that clung perfectly to his ass and thighs. The whole class seemed to cower; the atmosphere immediately turning icy with the appearance of who the teacher could only guess was Kurt Hummel.

An image flashed through Blaine's mind. He was laying across his couch, lazily, a man lying on top of him. He was threading his fingers through the man's hair, smiling, the only sounds around them that of their steady breathing as they cuddled. After a moment, Blaine realized that the man in the daydream was Kurt. He shook his head to rid it of the image, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to focus. _He's a student!_

"Kurt Hummel, I presume?"

The boy turned to his teacher, licking his bottom lip slowly, seductively, and arching an eyebrow, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a devilish smirk.

"You know me already?" he said, blinking in a somewhat innocent manner. "I suppose I do have a…reputation."

"You do indeed, from what I can tell. Sit," Blaine commanded, motioning to the only empty chair in the room.

"Okay," Kurt smiled, sweetly, walking across the room. The teacher cocked his head to the side, his gaze settling on the swaying ass of the student.

_Dammit, Anderson, what are you doing? Stop leering! He's a student!_ Blaine thought, mentally punching himself in the face, failing to realize that Kurt had walked straight past the empty chair and was now stood in the back corner, towering over no-fashion-sense-Rachel.

"Move, Man-Hands," he growled.

"Kurt!" Blaine scolded, standing up, his hands firmly planted on the desk.

Kurt didn't listen. When Rachel didn't get up, he snarled. "I said _move_."

Rachel nodded, collecting her things in her arms and scuttling to the spare seat. Kurt smiled triumphantly, flopping down in the chair, chuckling.

"Kurt Hummel, I will see you after class. I will not tolerate one student threatening another like that," Blaine yelled.

"Whatever," Kurt scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The class took that moment to bore of watching the exchange, turning back to their textbooks. Blaine decided against explaining the task to the late student, figuring it wasn't worth the hassle and he'd confront the boy after class.

* * *

The bell rang out and student began to stuff their belongings back into their bags, sliding out of their seats and barreling towards the door before anybody could tell them to stop.

Kurt stayed sat in the corner, earphones in and texting, expression unreadable, leaning back with his ankles cross on the desk. Blaine watched for a moment before standing and walking towards the student. He stopped about a meter away, watching as Kurt began to smile, his clear blue eyes flicking upwards.

"Problem, sir?" Kurt chuckled, pulling his earphones out and looking up at Blaine.

"I want you to tell me why you felt you had to treat Rachel like that when there was a perfectly okay seat at the front," Blaine said, his voice soft, which surprised the student.

"I always sit in the back corner. _Rachel Berry,_" he snarled the name, "knows that damn well. She knew I'm in this class, yet she still chose to sit in my seat."

"And that deserved the attitude you gave her?" Blaine raised his eyebrows, sitting on the edge Kurt's desk as the student moved his feet and sat forward.

"She pissed me off," the boy said simply.

"That's not an excuse. I can't have you acting like this in a classroom."

"But I can act however I want. Freedom and rights and all that shit."

"Watch your language. It's inappropriate."

Kurt grinned mischievously, leaning forward until his face was no more than a few inches away from Blaine's. "So I can't say fuck?"

The teacher's eyes widened. "No, of course not."

"So I can't say how much I know you want to fuck me?"

"Kurt! That's completely inappropriate!" Blaine gasped.

The boy did nothing more than chuckle. "You like it, though. No point in denying it, sir. I'm completely sure you'd love to bend a student over your desk and fuck him until-"

"That's enough!" Blaine snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling slowly, eyes shut. He reopened them slowly to find that the student had sat back, smirking.

"Why are you acting like this, Kurt? Honestly?" _I need to thank Principal Figgins for giving me a free period after I have this kid's class._

Kurt immediately grew colder, sitting straighter, muscles rigid. "My personal life is none of your business."

"No, but I had a pretty shit adolescence, so I understand."

"You couldn't understand what I've gone through."

Blaine wet his lips and sighed. "I'm not going to force you to tell me, but I can tell that this isn't you-"

Kurt stood up suddenly, his chair shooting backwards and toppling over as the boy screamed at his teacher. "You don't know me!"

"Sit down, Kurt."

"No," the student snarled back.

"Kurt."

The boy shook his head, scowling as he grabbed his bag, storming out of the room. "Fuck you, I'm out of here."

Blaine opened his mouth to call after him but decided against it, snapping it shut again and sliding back on the desk, leaning his head against the wall.

* * *

Blaine dragged his feet through the door to his apartment around six o'clock that evening, toeing off his shoes and walking to his room. He dropped onto his bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"Blainers?" Santana poked her head around his door, a small smile on her face.

"Not now, Satan," Blaine whined.

She raised her eyebrows. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"What happened?"

Blaine sat up, blinking in disbelief. "Which part of not now didn't you get?"

"Do you not know me at all?" Santana grinned, sitting on the edge of the man's bed and lifting his feet onto her lap as he lay back down. "What happened, Bilbo?"

Blaine rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Just a problem child."

"Sounds bad. What'd he do?"

"How are you so sure it was a guy?"

"Because if they were a chick they wouldn't have gotten you so hot and bothered. Just tell me he had a nice ass?"

Blaine chuckled. "He had an amazing ass."

Santana grinned. "So what did he do?"

"He was basically just a jackass. Not a lot I could do; he wouldn't listen to anything I said. It just…really pissed me off. But the way he was acting…I could tell it wasn't really _him."_

"It never is. But he was cute?"

"He's my _student_, Satan."

"I know. But a little bit of eye candy never hurt anyone."

Blaine grabbed a pillow and playfully hit her with it. "You're crazy."

"And you're sex on a stick. So what?"

The man rolled his eyes for what felt like the billionth time since he'd first met Santana in college. To be fair, it probably was.

"The thing is, Santana, in that moment that he first walked through the door…it was like I could see _everything _with him. Is that stupid? He's my student, it could never happen and I just don't understand."

Santana arched a perfect eyebrow. "What was he, a senior?" Blaine nodded, so she continued. "That's what, an eight year age gap? Trust me, Blainers, I've seen much worse than that before."

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm his teacher and he's underage. It's illegal."

"Blaine, I know you. You won't let anything happen no matter what goes down. You can dream. Jack off, have a bit of fun. You're dating Sebastian anyway, right?"

"For the last time, Satan, I'm not dating Sebastian."

"I thought you were against the whole 'friends with benefits' thing, though? Don't think I couldn't hear you two the other night."

"Santana," he warned.

"What? You were going at it like rabbits in heat. And I don't think rabbits even go into heat."

Blaine couldn't help but laugh aloud at that, but he quickly focused in all seriousness. "I'm not dating Sebastian. Sex is not dating; I learned that from you."

"That's because I'm awesome. Anyway, what was his name? The kid, I mean."

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel," Blaine sighed.

"How do you know Kurt, my precious dolphin?" Brittany asked, walking into the room and flopping onto the bed next to Blaine.

The man raised his eyebrows. "He's in one of my classes. The question is: how do _you _know him? Because what you just said made it sound like…" he trailed off, hoping the statement spoke for itself.

"We went to the same dance class when we were little. He was really good. Well, if it's the same Kurtie. I miss my happy, happy unicorn."

Blaine blinked at Santana, who was sat gazing adoringly at her girlfriend. He grinned, lifting his feet off of the Latina's lap and sitting up. He turned back to Brittany.

"So he was a dancer?"

"Yeah!"

Blaine nodded. Kurt didn't come across as the type of kid who danced, but he figured appearances could be deceiving, right?

"Thanks for that, Britt. That's definitely going to help me out a hell of a lot. I doubt it'll get him to open up completely, but it's definitely a start.

* * *

**Reviews make my whole world go around. They also make updates come quicker. Less than three.**


	3. Iris

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a short self-harm scene. If that means you wish to stop reading, please do so. I don't want to trigger anyone and I completely understand. It should, however, be pretty easy to skip over.**

**With that out of the way, I know I'm uploading this a day early, but I'm not sure I'll be able to upload tomorrow, so here's a little treat for you. Enjoy!**

**Reviews make my world go around.**

**And sadly, I still do not own Glee. :(**

* * *

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

'_Cause I don't think that they'd understand,_

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am,_

* * *

"Kurt!" Finn screamed through his step-brother's door over the pulsing beat of the new _Fall Out Boy_ song.

Kurt rolled his eyes, wrenching the door open. "Yes, Frankenteen?"

"Can you shut that up? Please?" the taller boy whined.

The Skank laughed. "No. You don't like it, get some earplugs."

"Why can't you play something good, dude? Classic rock or something; I don't even care if you play show tunes right now!"

"Just fuck off Finn. And don't insult my favourite bands," Kurt growled, slamming the door shut again, turning on his heel and walking back to his bed, climbing on top of it and crossing his legs. In front of him was the old notepad that he took everywhere with him. It was filled with page after page of choreography that Kurt had drawn in storyboard. He sighed, looking down at the open page. He picked up his sketch pencil and continued drawing in poses and jumps, twists and turns, kicks and flicks.

He completed the storyboarding the routine and exhaled slowly, closing the pad and slipping it into the top draw of his desk. He walked to his en-suite bathroom, the beat of the music around him pulsing through his body. He opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a razorblade from behind the assorted skin and hair products. He closed his eyes, leaning against the tiled wall as he pressed the blade into his left forearm, dragging it along as it split his skin, revealing a thin line of red. He winced, looking down at the wound, moving the blade further up and creating another. And then another.

After the third, he stood and rinsed the blade with cold water from the tap before hiding it in the cupboard again. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the excess blood off of his arms. Strolling back into his bedroom, he grabbed his denim jacket and pulled it on, the sleeves covering his arms. He turned off his stereo, silence filling the air around him.

He opened his door and stepped out of his room, shutting it again before jogging down the staircase and into the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," Carole smiled, looking over her shoulder from where she was stood at the far counter, chopping carrots into little cubes.

"Hey," Kurt replied, tone not cold and harsh as it usually was. He was always kind towards his father and step-mother, but never anybody else. "What are you making?"

"Oh, that pie your father loves so much."

Kurt nodded. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Sure," Carole motioned to the carrots as her smile grew wider. "Can you carry on with these?"

"Of course," Kurt grinned, walking up to her and taking the knife, cutting the carrots up. Carole walked to the stove, mixing the mince meat that was cooking in the pan.

"So how was your first day of senior year, Kurt?" Carole asked.

"It was okay, I suppose," Kurt sighed.

"You suppose?"

Kurt smiled. "It was good."

"I'm glad," Carole replied, but in her voice, Kurt could tell that she knew he was hiding something.

* * *

They continued with polite chit-chat until they'd finished preparing the meal, moving on to fix up a trifle for dessert as the pie cooked. When they were done and the pie was cooked through, they called Burt and Finn downstairs and sat at the table, the other two men joining them in a matter of seconds.

"So, Finn, what did you do today?" Carole asked as they all began to eat.

"Not a lot, it is school. We had a new teacher though. He was pretty cool," Finn said around a mouthful of pie.

"Oh, yeah?" Kurt looked up from his plate. "Mr Anderson?"

"Yeah! He's really fun!" Finn grinned, far too over-enthusiastic.

"Did you have him too, Kurt?" Burt asked.

"Yeah, but in a different hour."

"You had him first, right, Kurt? 'Cause you were meant to be in Chemistry with Rachel and I, but she said he kept you back for like, being really rude to Rach," Finn said, looking at his older yet shorter step-brother.

Kurt closed his eyes and bit down into his tongue to stop himself from snapping back at Finn. He inhaled slowly, bracing himself for the wrath of his father.

"Is that true, Kurt?"

"She was in my seat," the boy shrugged, opening his eyes, keeping his care-free exterior up.

"Dude, she said you were like, really, really mean to her," Finn pointed out.

"Yes, Finn, she was kind of pissing me off."

"Watch your language, Kurt," Burt warned. "We'll talk about this in the living room, since we both seem to be done with this pie," the man said, thanking his wife and standing, practically dragging his son through the kitchen by the front of his shirt.

"You are _so _dead to me," Kurt hissed at his step-brother, so low only Finn could hear, as he passed.

* * *

"It's your first day of senior year and you've already gotten yourself into trouble. What happened, Kurt?" Burt asked when they were sat on the couch, turned towards each other. He looked straight at his son's face while the boy looked down at the cushion in his lap, playing with the frayed seams.

"Simple. Rachel 'I'm so freaking perfect' Berry decided to sit where she knows I always do, so I told her to get out of my way. Mr Anderson didn't like that too much."

Burt sighed. "Kurt, this can't keep happening. You're failing most of your classes and you're in detention almost every day. It's a new year, it's time to change. I don't like who you've become."

Kurt looked up. "Well, this is who I am, like it or not. I'm sorry if you don't like it," he scowled, dropping his voice. "It's practically your fault I act like this anyway."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Burt looked dubious. "If you have something to say to me, Kurt, then say it."

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood. "I don't have anything to say to you, though. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to go to bed."

With that he left the room, jogging up the stairs and locking himself inside his bedroom, commencing with his moisturising routine.

* * *

Kurt met with the Skanks before school started the next day at their usual spot, hidden beneath the bleachers.

"Cigarette, Kurt?" Quinn offered when the boy arrived.

"Please," he replied, snatching it from her fingers and taking his lighter from his pocket, lighting it up and taking a puff.

"Did you enjoy last night, babe? We didn't get much of a chance to talk before you escaped," Nick grinned, slinging his arm around Quinn's shoulder.

The ex-Cheerio rolled her eyes. "Piss off, Hamilton."

Nick chuckled. "Come on, babe. We both know I was good."

Quinn gave him a sarcastic smile. "You were incredible."

He fist-pumped. "Hell yeah."

The girl rolled her eyes again, letting out an obviously agitated sigh, shaking Nick's arm from her shoulders. "I was being sarcastic, asshole."

Kurt laughed at Nick's kicked-puppy expression as Quinn turned to her closest friend.

"So, how are you, Kurt?" she asked, taking a puff of her own cigarette.

"The usual," Kurt said, giving her a half-smile.

"Horny?"

They both laughed. "Pretty much. I'm thinking of skipping first period and calling one of my boys."

"Do you have a file on your phone for guys that will just come and suck you off when you need it or something?" Jeff asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, actually. And don't worry; I didn't forget to put your number in it."

Jeff turned scarlet, eyes widening, going silent.

Kurt turned back to Quinn, who was suppressing a smile. "You're such a bitch to him."

The boy shrugged. "He gives good blowjobs; I'm telling nothing but the truth."

"Shut up!" Jeff squeaked. He obviously didn't realise Kurt had already told the group about their one-night together from during the summer; he felt no shame, but Jeff clearly did.

Kurt rolled his eyes as the bell rang out, signalling the start of first period. "Whatever, Jeff."

The blonde gulped. "So, we have history first with Mr A."

"Again? Really?"

"Yeah, are you going to come?"

"Down your throat, I hope," Kurt replied nonchalantly.

Jeff blushed furiously again as he began to stride toward the school with the rest of the group, who were all laughing. "I'm serious, Kurt."

"So am I. But yes, I'll come to history with you because you don't want to go by yourself, chicken."

"I never said that! I was just wondering."

"Sure."

* * *

"Kurt, you actually decided to join us on time," Mr Anderson grinned when Kurt walked in.

"I didn't want Berry taking my seat again," Kurt shot back, glaring at the girl sat at the front in a hideous maroon reindeer sweater. She seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"Right, well, take your seat and we can begin," the dark-haired teacher said, smiling as Kurt settled in his seat. "All I really want you guys to do today is continue with yesterday's work; finish reading the section and then answer the questions, okay? Off you go."

The class got on with the work, with the exception of Kurt, who stuck in his earphones, nodding to the music that blasted out so loudly that it echoed through the otherwise silent room. He closed his eyes, daydreaming, not opening them for at least ten minutes, only to find Mr Anderson stood directly before him, eyebrows raised, a disapproving look on his face.

Kurt pulled out one of the earphones, looking up at his teacher. "Yes, sir?"

The dark-haired man sighed. "I'll see you after school, Kurt," he said simply before turning on his heel and walking back to his desk, leaving the student rolling his eyes, jaw clenched.

* * *

Blaine was marking a pop quiz from one of his classes when he heard a knock at the door. He looked up, expecting to see Kurt, but instead being greeted by the face of Sebastian Smythe, his chocolate hair and eyes and adorable chipmunk-like face.

"Sebastian," Blaine grinned, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he pushed his chair back as the other man stepped further into the classroom.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, smiling. "How've you been, B?" They both moved apart, looking each other in the eyes.

"I've been good, how about you?"

"I've missed you, if you know what I mean, but I'm good. How were your first couple of days?" Sebastian asked, leaning on the edge of a table.

"They were good. I have a problem student, but it'll be okay."

"Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine nodded, pressing his lips together as he sat on his desk. "That's the one. How'd you guess?"

"I had him a few times over the past two years. He wasn't like that when I first met him; he was a really good kid back then. High grades, never stepped a toe out of line. I'm pretty sure he was really badly bullied, though. And that Quinn girl, I don't know if you have her, she was the same. Captain of the Cheerios, straight-A student, made a mistake and paid the price."

"Mistake?" Blaine asked, lifting the mug of coffee by the stack of test papers to his lips and taking a sip, eyebrows raised.

"Teen pregnancy," Sebastian shrugged.

"Ah," the darker haired man nodded. "Anyway, I'm meant to be having Kurt in here for a detention, so it'd probably be best if we talk later."

Sebastian scoffed. "He won't show; he's an ass like that. I'm just glad I don't have him in my class this year. Don't think I could put up with him again."

"Sebastian!" Blaine scolded. "You can't say that. We'll see if he shows up."

"Of course. I'll see you later, Blainers," the taller man said, getting up and leaving the room, grinning at Blaine, who smiled back, waving.

Sebastian turned into the hallway, almost crashing straight into somebody. He steadied himself, looking up and beginning to apologise, only to see who it was.

"Kurt Hummel, what are you doing in school after hours? Normally you're the first one gone," Sebastian stated.

"I have a detention, but you'd know that after your conversation in there," Kurt snapped back.

The older man snickered. "Eavesdropping, are we?"

The student rolled his eyes, ignoring him. "If you wouldn't mind, I need to go see Mr Anderson, not you."

Sebastian's eyes widened as Kurt pushed past him, coming to a realisation and laughing mockingly. "Have a crush, Kurt?" he said, turning and watching as the student froze. "You stand no chance. Blaine isn't stupid; he wouldn't date a student. He also refuses to sleep with anyone but me, but what can I say, I'm pretty irresistible."

He heard Kurt gulp before he strode off, laughing.

* * *

"Why is he taking so long? I thought he might actually come along," Blaine thought aloud, getting up and walking to the door. He leaned out, looking down the hall, spotting the retreating figure of a tall, male student with coiffed hair, dressed in his trademark denim jacket. _Kurt_.

He yelled the boy's name and watched he turned around. Kurt let out a frustrated sigh and stalked towards his history teacher.

"Where were you going when you knew I was waiting?" Blaine asked.

"I was going to come, but then I changed my mind," Kurt replied. After a short moment he smirked, mischievously, as he was struck with a thought. "But I'm sure you can change it back. I know you could make me come harder than anybody else."

"Kurt!" Blaine squeaked, blushing. "Just...just get in the classroom."

"Of course, sir," Kurt grinned, pushing past his teacher and sitting at a desk at the front.

Blaine moved to sit at his desk, leaning forward. "So you'll sit there now, but not during class?"

"Well, I really don't see the point in going to the back when all it means is that it'll take longer for me to get to your desk," Kurt said simply, shrugging. "Unless you want to do it against the back wall rather than bending me over..."

Blaine shut his eyes and searched himself for strength. "Kurt, stop it. I know that this isn't you."

"You don't know me."

"I know more about you than you think, obviously. Why did you stop going to dance classes?"

The student's eyes widened. "How did you know that I used to dance?"

"My roommate, Brittany, said she used to go to the same classes as you."

"Brittany Pierce?"

"That's her."

"Wow, small world. You together then or..?"

Blaine chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell no; we're both gay. She's with my other roommate, Santana."

"You're gay?" Kurt asked, even though, unbeknownst to his teacher, he'd already worked that out.

"As a rainbow."

"Oh," the boy nodded.

"You didn't answer my question."

Kurt sighed, looking down at his desk and pushing the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows. "It wasn't my choice. My father couldn't afford to send me to the classes anymore, so I stopped going."

Blaine nodded in understanding, looking at Kurt's arms. _Damn, they're toned._

A moment of silence passed before Kurt spoke up. "Why are you so nice to me? I know I'm not a good student, I'm a pain in the ass..." he trailed off, looking up, moving his left arm closer to his stomach.

"Kurt, you remind me of myself when I was in high school. I went through a hell of a lot before I transferred to Dalton Academy."

"The prep school in Westerville?" Kurt chuckled.

"Yep, that's the one," Blaine giggled, walking around his desk and sitting on the edge of it. "Anyway, I get it. I get why you've felt the need to become this badass kid that doesn't let anybody near him. I mean it, I do."

Kurt nodded in understanding, cradling his left forearm subconsciously. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Blaine gave him a supportive smile before dropping his gaze to Kurt's arm. "Have you hurt your wrist or something?"

The boy's eyes widened dramatically and he yanked his sleeves back down. "No!"

"Kurt? Show me your arm," Blaine requested, a sense of dread filling him.

"No," the boy responded, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It's none of your business."

"Now, Kurt," the older man pleaded. "Please."

"No," Kurt snarled back.

Blaine, having lost all of his self-control to fear, grabbed Kurt's arm, wrenching his left sleeve up to reveal what seemed like hundreds of thin scars, some newer than others, ranging from pale pink to a deep shade of red. The darker, fresher cuts were scabbed, whilst the older ones were slightly shiny as the light reflected off of them.

Not looking up to catch the look of horror that had fallen over Kurt's features, Blaine sucked in a long, shaky breath. "Oh my god."

* * *

**Thoughts? Review and tell me ;) Less than three :)**


	4. What If I Told You

**Long time, no upload! Okay, well, I missed a week, and I'm very sorry for that. I had a rough week. But here you go! And I hope that this chapter is to your liking! The story is going to pick up from here (YAY!).**

**And thank you to my Beta. Martha, sweetie, I'm going to say right here that I love you, okay? Always here for you when you need me. You're forever and always my best friend. Less than three.**

**It's so sweet that you think I own Glee and the fabulous, one and only Jason Walker, but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I still do not own Glee.**

* * *

_What if I told you that it's just a front – _

_ To hide the insecurities I have?_

_ What if I told you that I'm not as strong – _

_ As I like to make-believe I am?_

* * *

"Kurt, what is this?" Mr. Anderson asked, his gaze still fixed on his student's forearm.

Kurt let out a single, humorless chuckle. "It's exactly what it looks like, dumbass."

The teacher looked up; eyes filled with worry, disapproval and…fear? "Why, Kurt? Just tell me why? Please?"

The boy looked away. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Mr. Anderson released Kurt's arm and sat back down on the edge of his desk. "I agree. I don't expect I will. But I'm also sure that you don't talk about it even though you need to. I know you need to."

Kurt inhaled slowly, flopping back down into his seat. "What if I told you that it's just a front? Everything I do, everything I say, it's not _me_. There's so much that I'm afraid of saying, secrets, truths. I'm terrified of somebody seeing through me," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as his breath caught.

"To me, you're pretty transparent. Why do you do it though? How _long _have you being doing that?" The history teacher murmured, his voice soft.

Kurt didn't know why he was pouring his heart out, all his fears, lies, truths, his story, to his teacher, but he couldn't stop himself. It just felt _right _to let it out to Mr. Anderson. "My mother died in a car accident when I was eight. My father had to take time off of work to look after me, and himself too, I suppose. He didn't have money to pay for anything but food and bills after that. As I've said, he couldn't afford to send me to dance anymore but…it was my mother who got me interested in dancing. It was the only way I felt I could connect to her after she died. And then that was taken away and I felt so _constricted._" Kurt looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, as hot tears spilled over his eyelids. He continued, "I didn't know what to do. I felt like my father didn't care. I mean, I know better now, but to a fourteen year old boy, doing nothing more than _surviving _for six years, it never seemed like that. I didn't know what I was doing when I first…when I first cut. I was just so, so afraid. It was the only pain I could control. I was hurting so damn much, but I couldn't _control _it. So I controlled my blades instead."

Blaine inhaled slowly, blinking back tears. He slowly slid down off of the desk, settling on his knees in front of Kurt's seat. He took the student's hand into his own, holding it and allowing the boy to reveal his story, his feelings. The boy swallowed, using his free hand to wipe away his tears.

"When I came to McKinley, I was bullied for my voice, because it's 'girly', for my clothes, because I loved fashion and I always wore things that were on the runway, and when I came out, because I'm gay. It tore me apart. Quinn, I don't know if you know her, she fell pregnant in our sophomore year. It practically ruined her. She knew that things wouldn't be the same, so she decided to change, decided to stop letting herself be the victim. She knew about my cuts, she'd seen them when I was changing for a competition in Glee Club, and she invited me to join her. And here I am now, lying about who I am because I'm so sick of being the victim. I just _can't _be the victim anymore," Kurt sobbed, falling forwards and into his teacher's arms.

Blaine knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around the boy, knowing that all he needed right now was to be held. He pulled Kurt onto his lap as his student curled up tighter, pressing himself into Blaine's chest.

"It's okay, Kurt. It'll be okay," he murmured into his hair.

"How can you know that though?" Kurt asked, pulling back slightly, looking up at his teacher with glassy eyes, his face red and puffy.

"Because you're strong," Blaine whispered, moving his hands to grip the sides of Kurt's face. "I know that you're strong, even if you don't believe it. Under all of this, you're so strong. And I'm going to be here for you every single step of the way. I promise, we'll make it better, _together._"

They stared into each other's eyes for far too long, feeling as though an electric current was passing between them where their gazes connected, their skin touched. They stayed that way, silently staring, until Kurt's sobs had calmed.

And then all they knew was the connection of their lips. Their tongues danced together, mouths open, in a sloppy, heated, needy kiss. They both knew how wrong it was, but somehow, that only made it feel even more _right. _Blaine snaked one hand into Kurt's hair, the other wrapping around the boy's waist as the younger man shifted in his lap.

"Fuck," Blaine gasped as they pulled apart for air, although neither man wanted to. But pulling apart allowed the teacher's mind to comprehend what had just happened. He pushed Kurt off of his lap and scooted back as though the boy were a red-hot flame.

"Shit, shit, _shit. _Fuck_, _Kurt, we can't do this," he babbled, panicking, refusing to meet the student's eye. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, heart pounding. When a minute had passed and Kurt still hadn't said anything, he looked up.

The boy was still sat in the floor, but looking down at his hands. His hair had loosened from its perfect coif, random strands sticking in all directions, and his jacket was on the floor behind him, somehow pushed from his shoulders when they'd kissed. He didn't move, just stayed still as a statue, a particularly perfect statue, Blaine would add.

Kurt slowly looked up, gaze meeting his teacher's. His eyes were wet, tear-tracks on his cheeks, but he'd stopped crying. He stared at Blaine, eyes filled with what seemed to be guilt, a silent apology. He looked so damn vulnerable.

"Fuck it," Blaine exclaimed, launching himself back at Kurt, covering the boy's lips with his own again, this kiss lazy, sweet, just a connection of mouths between two people who were slowly coming to care deeply for one another. Blaine brushed his tongue alone Kurt's closed lips, seeking entrance. The mouth opened and the dark-haired man's tongue met that of his student's, sighing happily.

Kurt was the first to pull away. "What…what does this mean?"

Blaine sighed, linking his fingers through his student's, running his other hand through his hair. "I don't know. I would get into so much trouble for this."

"That's why I'm asking what _you _want."

"You," the man said simply. "I want you. But we can't. I want to, Kurt, I do, but I _can't."_

Kurt nodded, silent.

"Say something. Kurt, I really don't know what to do."

The student nodded. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to take my number and text me when you know what you want to do. And until then, I won't even talk to you outside of class. And I will also go back to being a jerk in your lessons."

Blaine laughed, nodding and handing Kurt his phone so the boy could put in his number. When he'd typed the digits and his name in, the boy handed the cell back and stood up, hitching his bag higher up on his shoulder.

"I'll see you later, Mr. A," Kurt winked, walking out of the door and leaving Blaine alone, looking down at his phone.

* * *

"Satan! I need to talk to you!" Blaine yelled as he strolled through his front door that evening. He heard an exasperated sigh as Santana wrenched the door to the room she shared with Brittany, stepping out and glaring at the man. She wore a red button-up shirt, only half the buttons actually done up, and even then they were crooked. Her legs were completely bare, and her dark hair was wild. Blaine raised both eyebrows.

"This better be good, Baggins," she practically growled, slowly walking towards him.

"We could talk later…?"

"Nope, no, I'm here now. I was pretty happy where I was, about to spend some _private _time with my girlfriend for the first time in who knows how long, and you've already ruined that, so what…" she trailed off when she was stood just over a foot away. "Your lips are seriously swollen; who've you been macking?"

Blaine swallowed. "That's what I needed to talk to you about."

"Ah. Let me put some pants on and sort out my shirt. I'll be right back," she said quickly, turning on her heel and disappearing back into her room.

She reappeared five minutes later, hair still a little disheveled, her shirt straightened and wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, Brittany following close behind, frowning, strands of blonde sticking out erratically. They joined Blaine where he was sat on the couch, head in his hands as he tried to compose his thoughts. Santana put an arm around his shoulders, squeezing comfortingly.

"What happened, Bilbo?" she asked.

"I don't even know, 'Tana," Blaine sighed, lifting his head and looking at her. His eyes were red and puffy, filled with hot tears. "One minute he was explaining his life story, opening up for what must've been the first time in years, and then…I kissed him."

Santana's eyes widened. "Wait, _you _kissed _him?!_"

Blaine nodded, solemnly. "I don't know what came over me. I just felt like I needed to, you know?"

The Latina looked over at Brittany, who was sat in the armchair adjacent to the torn and tattered couch, and nodded before turning her attention back to the man. "I know, Blainers."

"I broke away, but he just looked so _broken_. I couldn't help myself from going back in again."

Santana sighed, dropping her arm from around Blaine's shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact with her by turning his face with her palm. "If circumstances were different, and he wasn't your student-" Blaine let out a strangled groan at the reminder, dropping his head back into his hands, "-then what would you do? Honestly?"

"I'd be with him," the man replied without missing a beat. "But I _can't, _Satan. You know that I can't do that."

"It's not illegal unless you get caught, Baggins. Do you really think that you could see something serious with him? I mean, he's what, nine years younger than you?"

Blaine sighed, looking back up at her. "I do, 'Tana. When I first saw him…it was like my whole future flashed through my mind, my future with _him_."

Santana barely held in her laughter. "How pathetically sappy do you want to get, Blainers. Christ, you're crazy."

"Shut up."

The Latina rolled her eyes. "Anyway, what I was going to say was, if you think you could fall in love with them, then why try to stop yourself?"

"Because it's illegal, dur."

"Like I said, it's not illegal unless you get caught. If you're being serious, and my physic Mexican third eye is never wrong, and it's telling me you are, then it doesn't matter what people think. You're obviously falling for this kid-" Blaine let loose another whine, "-sorry, not a kid, but whatever. Go for it. I expect rampant rabbit sex within a few weeks, and a tape to match."

Blaine looked up, alarmed, and playfully slapped her, squealing. "Santana!"

The woman chuckled, getting up and taking Brittany's hand, pulling her up too. "Now if you wouldn't mind…" she trailed off, gesturing between them.

"Got it!" Blaine grinned, scurrying off to his bedroom like an obedient child to let the two women do…whatever the hell they do in bed.

* * *

It was around nine o'clock that night that a text came through to Kurt's phone, the cell phone vibrating on the wood of his nightstand. He reached out, grasping it and opening the message.

_**I know we shouldn't, but I can't stop thinking about you Kurt. I want you to do better in classes; I want you to reach your full potential. So I'm going to volunteer to tutor you. I talked to Britt a little while ago, and she's willing to help you with your dancing. And I want to take you out. We'll probably have to drive out to Columbus, but I'm pretty sure it'd be worth it. – B. Anderson.**_

Kurt chuckled, typing out a response.

_**Well, Mr. A, I have to say that those sound like offers too good to refuse. Do me a favor, and thank Brittany for me? I haven't seen her in forever. And tutoring, sure, I know I'm far behind. Thank you. And are you asking me out on a date? That seems awfully forward of you. ;) What does the B stand for? Bilbo? Baggins? I mean, you are kind of a hobbit. – Kurt.**_

The boy turned back to his laptop, working on a mash-up for a dance routine he'd been working on. It wasn't even two minutes later he had a response come through to his phone.

_**Oh, crap, not you too. My name is Blaine, okay? Santana, Brittany's girlfriend (she said its cool, by the way) and my other roommate, calls me Bilbo. And Baggins sometimes too. But she has these awful nicknames for anyone and everyone, with the exception of Britt. She's just 'Babe' or whatever, I don't know. Anyway, I'll see you in class on Monday, okay? X – Blaine.**_

"Did he actually put a kiss at the end of that?" Kurt wondered aloud, lips parted. "Two can play at that game."

_**Okay, Bilbo. See you on Monday. X – Kurt.**_

* * *

**That was pretty much just one long scene and a little angst, but I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews I will be forever grateful for :) And any little ideas you'd like to see featured, do tell me and I'll see if they fit in anywhere! **


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